12-28-2015, 07:57 PM
Hi Weeded,
I really enjoyed this poem. You effectively used action figures to convey an emotional story about a young boy. Generally speaking, this is pretty strong already, though I will point out a couple of things below. I didn't read the previous comments so I hope I'm not already repeating previous suggestions!
Action Figures
He grabs plastic action figures
out of his purple Scooby-Doo
backpack. His Brother configures (I like the capitalisation of Brother; I assume that it suggests older brother with a bit of authority over, and respect from, the main boy.)
a tall tale of heroism
as they sit in that minivan
packing bodies, bags, and boredom. (Perhaps just bodies and bags, without the boredom; it's implied that they are alleviating boredom through play and story-telling.)
He drops the ball, Brother says fetch.
He complies, reluctantly and
quietly removes his seatbelt.
Under the seat is a crawlspace
where crumbs and forgotten toys lie.
He fondly remembers laying
to hide from Mother and Father. (I like this stanza, and again the capitalisation of Mother and Father reinforces its use to represent authority.)
In the crawlspace searching; action
figures love to hide. He combs through
darkness, feeling discomfort from
seating rails, surrounding bolts poke
him sharply. Mid-search, an abrupt,
deathly rattle presents itself.
"What was that? Hm.. Oh well."
Action figure searching commences.
Father screams. (I adjusted the line breaks here. I like the way you have the line breaks split in other stanzas, but I believe this slight adjustment may read better)
Like the roll of kaleidoscopes;
his body the (maybe "like" instead of "the") little glass bits
revolving... Up, down, up, down, up-
out.. (I like the way you did that) He regains consciousness, looks
around and sees ("to see" rather than "and sees")desert, cacti;
glass bits rest on his wounds and (on) ground.
A voice cries out, "whoa, whoa buddy!"
It belongs to the running man;
shirtless, shirt in hand, the action
figure if it were a man; an
angelic man who made problems
his own. He scoops the bloody boy
(nice line break)
who screams in agony from his
wounds. The running man doesn't run
far to discover Brother. No
motion, eyes closed, blood painted skull.
The running man's wife, a nurse, says
with a tragic and somber sigh:
"He's dead." Words will never again
have an effect on the screaming
boy like this. The running man ran,
brother in each hand, life and death,
a concept a child is never
meant to understand (nice). Yet the boy
sees it all too clearly. Laying
on the flatbed of a pickup
truck, observing lifelessness in
the life that was took. He wonders
about his family; pluming
black smoke rises from the mini-
(this is an interesting line break, and it definitely works to continue the flow.)
van when a loud helicopter
lands, but the boy is now drifting.
They lift him up, his last wonders
are: "Why just me? What about my
family? What about Brother?"
He gives up as he gives in to
his torpid heart. An EMT
slaps his face, he hears "stay with me!"
but it's faint. He closes his eyes.
Darkness transforms into peaceful
light. Yet his eyes open, to his
surprise. He sees his godmother
pacing, grandmother patiently
waiting. They hold him as they cry;
he wishes he wasn't alive. aww
They feed him ice cream and give him
gifts as if it helps. He unwraps
presents and finds action figures. Nice way to tie in the action figures again.
Very nice work.
Emma
I really enjoyed this poem. You effectively used action figures to convey an emotional story about a young boy. Generally speaking, this is pretty strong already, though I will point out a couple of things below. I didn't read the previous comments so I hope I'm not already repeating previous suggestions!
Action Figures
He grabs plastic action figures
out of his purple Scooby-Doo
backpack. His Brother configures (I like the capitalisation of Brother; I assume that it suggests older brother with a bit of authority over, and respect from, the main boy.)
a tall tale of heroism
as they sit in that minivan
packing bodies, bags, and boredom. (Perhaps just bodies and bags, without the boredom; it's implied that they are alleviating boredom through play and story-telling.)
He drops the ball, Brother says fetch.
He complies, reluctantly and
quietly removes his seatbelt.
Under the seat is a crawlspace
where crumbs and forgotten toys lie.
He fondly remembers laying
to hide from Mother and Father. (I like this stanza, and again the capitalisation of Mother and Father reinforces its use to represent authority.)
In the crawlspace searching; action
figures love to hide. He combs through
darkness, feeling discomfort from
seating rails, surrounding bolts poke
him sharply. Mid-search, an abrupt,
deathly rattle presents itself.
"What was that? Hm.. Oh well."
Action figure searching commences.
Father screams. (I adjusted the line breaks here. I like the way you have the line breaks split in other stanzas, but I believe this slight adjustment may read better)
Like the roll of kaleidoscopes;
his body the (maybe "like" instead of "the") little glass bits
revolving... Up, down, up, down, up-
out.. (I like the way you did that) He regains consciousness, looks
around and sees ("to see" rather than "and sees")desert, cacti;
glass bits rest on his wounds and (on) ground.
A voice cries out, "whoa, whoa buddy!"
It belongs to the running man;
shirtless, shirt in hand, the action
figure if it were a man; an
angelic man who made problems
his own. He scoops the bloody boy
(nice line break)
who screams in agony from his
wounds. The running man doesn't run
far to discover Brother. No
motion, eyes closed, blood painted skull.
The running man's wife, a nurse, says
with a tragic and somber sigh:
"He's dead." Words will never again
have an effect on the screaming
boy like this. The running man ran,
brother in each hand, life and death,
a concept a child is never
meant to understand (nice). Yet the boy
sees it all too clearly. Laying
on the flatbed of a pickup
truck, observing lifelessness in
the life that was took. He wonders
about his family; pluming
black smoke rises from the mini-
(this is an interesting line break, and it definitely works to continue the flow.)
van when a loud helicopter
lands, but the boy is now drifting.
They lift him up, his last wonders
are: "Why just me? What about my
family? What about Brother?"
He gives up as he gives in to
his torpid heart. An EMT
slaps his face, he hears "stay with me!"
but it's faint. He closes his eyes.
Darkness transforms into peaceful
light. Yet his eyes open, to his
surprise. He sees his godmother
pacing, grandmother patiently
waiting. They hold him as they cry;
he wishes he wasn't alive. aww
They feed him ice cream and give him
gifts as if it helps. He unwraps
presents and finds action figures. Nice way to tie in the action figures again.
Very nice work.
Emma